IS THERE ANYONE HOME?
Joan Stephens
Prologue
Perplexed, Catherine Chandler stared into the ebony night, not seeing the bright lights reflected in Lake Erie as the Lake Shore Limited sped through the moonless midsummer night, returning her to New York after four long years of captivity. First, by the madman, Gabriel, who had wanted her child, and then by her very own government. According to them she was in danger until Gabriel’s empire could be dismantled. Finally the happy day came when they told her she could go home. Envisioning her joyful reunion with Vincent, she quickly packed the few things she had in a small overnight bag. Without delay, she phoned Peter Alcott, her doctor and lifelong friend, who was also a friend to all she loved and held dear. Mysteriously, his number had been discontinued. Hoping to get his new number, she called Jenny only to get a message that said she was on her honeymoon and would not return for two weeks. Impatient to return to her loved ones, she decided to wait until she reached New York to find Peter.
Chapter One
Anyone watching her would think that she was enthralled with the ebony landscape rolling by, but what she was seeing had no relation to that which was outside. She was seeing lighted candles glowing in the dark; stacks of books everywhere; laughing children; contented adults; tall, musical waterfalls; glittering crystals; and the beautiful leonine face of her beloved. She shivered with anticipation as she recalled being held in his strong arms, feeling safe and loved. Oh, if only they could have lived these last four years together. She would regret forever that she hadn’t told him that she was pregnant the night she had gone to tell him. But she had let her concern for him still her words. Had he understood what she had tried to tell him on that roof when she felt that she was dying? Or was her son somewhere being raised by total strangers or worse, people like Gabriel? She prayed not; she prayed that Vincent had understood her and had searched for and found their son. Anything else was too horrible to think about.
In the back of her mind was another nagging worry. Why couldn’t she get in touch with Peter? Surely, he was still practicing medicine. He had once told her, when she had asked him if he was going to retire, that he hoped to die in harness. But where could he be? She refused to think of the possibility that he could be dead.
She wished that she had been able to take a plane, but the money the government had given her had to cover her meals and lodgings as well as the means to get home. Amtrak was not the cheapest, but the only other alternative was a bus and that would take forever as far as she was concerned.
At 1:50 in the afternoon, she stepped from the railcar onto the ground of her native city. She immediately looked in a telephone book, hoping to find Peter’s new number. Not only was his home phone number unlisted, but the impersonal voice of the operator also informed her that his office number was discontinued or no longer in service. Now the worry became a frightening sense that something was terribly wrong.
That worry sent her barreling through the rail terminal and into the first empty cab she found. No sooner had she entered the cab than the rain began to pour down, and nervously she drummed her fingers on the artificial, leather back seat, keeping time with the slapping of the windshield wipers. With fits and starts due to heavy rain and congested traffic, the cab inched its way to Central Park. At last they reached the Park. Eager to go Below, she hastily paid the cabbie and scooted out of the taxi into the misty, damp, and cool day. It had been a sudden cloudburst, just as suddenly over. Hurrying through the sodden grass of the Park, she was relieved that she had only one small suitcase to carry. Carefully she studied the surrounding area. No one was even looking her way. She slipped into the large, concrete conduit, and with a relieved and excited sigh, she leaned for a moment against the curved wall. Almost home. With a light heart, she approached the threshold. Suddenly the sun broke through the gray clouds to brighten the tunnel and the entrance to the world Below. What she found froze her blood, and she sank limply to the ground. The rolling door bore evidence of an explosion and had been cemented shut. Dazed, she shook her head and closed her eyes, hoping that when she opened them the damage would be gone. It wasn’t. She couldn’t believe it and for several minutes simply stared at the door, tears trickling slowly down her cheeks. Eventually her brain began to function. Who could have done this? And why? The name Gabriel arose in her mind. He was more than capable of an act like this, but he was dead and his empire had been dismantled. She wondered anxiously if anyone was still behind the sealed door.
Getting up, she pounded on the door. Nothing happened. She was getting frantic. Vincent was alive; she was certain of that. Even without the bond, she would have known if he had died. Plodding out of the pipe, she dropping leadenly onto the first bench she found, trying to compose herself. Pushing the fearful and unwelcome thoughts to the back of her mind, she tried to think. Where to go? Whom to see? She had to find out what had happened. Peter could have told her, but she didn’t know where he was. Asking the helpers would only put them in danger as the tentacles of Gabriel’s empire reached everywhere, and she couldn’t take the chance that it had been completely destroyed. Who was powerful enough to help her without needing to know everything? Elliot Burch and Joe Maxwell came to mind. On her hurried dash through the airport, she had grabbed a copy of the New York Times in which she had read of Joe’s election as the Manhattan District Attorney for New York County and of his involvement in bringing down Gabriel’s criminal empire. She would see Joe first and then Elliot. Joe could give her information, but Elliot had contacts that at the best were a little shady but necessary.
*
Her money was running low, so she decided to take the subway to the DA’s office. Entering the rain-washed front doors of the Criminal Building, she hoped to run into someone that she knew. The first person she met in the office was little Sandy Blakeman who had just passed her bar exam after interning for several years. She took one look at Catherine, screamed, and fainted. Rita Escobar rushed up and gasped when she saw her old friend and coworker.
"Cathy?" she asked in a shaky voice, her eyes wide with astonishment. "Is it really you? Where’ve you been? What happened?" Completely forgetting about Sandy lying on the floor, she reached out tentatively to see if the young woman was really there and not a figment of her imagination or, even worse, a ghost.
"Yeah, it’s me." Catherine smiled sheepishly. "Sorry to cause such a commotion, but I didn’t know where else to go."
Pulling her into a hearty embrace, Rita said, "Girl, don’t worry about it. I’ve got to see Joe’s reaction when he sees you. He will go ballistic when he sees you." She tried to steer the other woman toward Joe’s office.
Hanging back, Catherine asked, "What about Sandy? Shouldn’t we do something for her?" She glanced around at the staring people crowded about them. Ted Sanders dropped to one knee beside the groggy young woman. Catherine remembered him as a pleasant, competent fellow worker.
"We will," he said, gazing up in wonder at his former associate, long thought to be dead. "We’ll take care of her while you give the boss the shock of his life." He chuckled all the way to the water cooler.
Eyes full of unanswered questions followed Rita and Catherine as they walked toward Joe’s office. The young Hispanic woman knocked on the door that read: Joseph Maxwell, District Attorney. Tears stung Catherine’s eyes when she heard his well-remembered voice tell them to come in. Entering first, Rita said with a smile in her voice, "Joe, there’s someone here I think you should see."
"Oh, yeah? It better not be Ben Harper. I’m about ready to wring his neck."
"I hope you won’t wring my neck," Catherine said as she followed Rita into Joe’s office.
White-faced, Joe struggled to his feet then collapsed into his chair, his mouth working soundlessly. He shook his head violently then looked at her again. "Radcliffe?" he finally squawked, still not believing his eyes.
"How are you, Joe?" she asked as calmly as she could.
"How am I?" he yelped, leaping to his feet. "You march in here, bold as brass, back from the dead and calmly ask me how I am? Well, I’ll tell you how I am. I’m flabbergasted; I’m amazed; I’m stunned; I’m . . . so glad to see you," he whooped as he charged around his desk and grabbed her into a huge bear hug. "You’re really real," he babbled.
"Yes, Joe, I’m real," she laughed through her tears.
"Where were you? What happened? How come you’re not dead?" Abashed at his thoughtless words, he went from white to red as he stuttered, "I - uh - I mean I - I went to your funeral, kiddo. It wasn’t you?"
Slowly she shook her head.
"Whew!" he sighed, running his hand through his hair. "Sit down, please, before I fall down," he almost begged. "And tell me all about it."
Rita and Catherine settled into the comfortable chairs in front of his desk, waiting for him to calm down. Then she told him all that she could, leaving out only the part about Vincent.
"Well, you don’t have to worry; Gabriel is dead." The young DA leaned back proudly in his chair.
"I had a baby, Joe, and he took him from me. Do you know anything about him?" she asked softly, hoping against hope that he knew where her baby was.
He slowly shook his head. "There was a nursery but no baby. Diana said . . ."
"Diana?"
"Diana Bennett was the detective who solved your murder. She said there was no baby."
The air seemed to whoosh out of her, and she slumped in her chair; swallowing her tears. "I so hoped that you would know something about him. Maybe Peter can tell me."
"Peter?"
"Peter Alcott, my doctor."
"Peter Alcott? That rings a bell," Joe said, swinging his chair from side to side.
"Yeah, don’t you remember?" Rita told him. "He’s that doctor who was convicted of dealing drugs."
"Peter! Dealing drugs! You’ve got to be kidding," Catherine objected. "He would never do anything like that."
Joe explained, "Well, there was this crazy commune living in the tunnels, and when they were raided, he was found there with a load of different drugs."
Catherine’s stomach twisted with fear; she could barely breathe. "What happened to the people who lived there?" she whispered.
"Oh, the usual. The kids were taken by the Department of Child Social Services and the adults were forced to leave."
"Anything else?" the young woman questioned, fearing the worst.
"Yeah, they captured the monster that’s committed all those slashings. They say he had a kid with him. Said it was his son. Big joke. Probably stole him." In his joy to have her back and alive, Joe rambled on, completely oblivious to Catherine’s silence and her stunned look.
"They didn’t kill him, did they?" she asked, trying to cover her distraught state, afraid of the answer.
"Nah. He’s in some lab somewhere. The scientists have been fighting over him ever since."
"What about the child?" she asked, clutching her purse, leaving deep fingernail gouges in the imitation leather.
"I think they took him too. Something about possibilities," he shrugged with disdain. "You know these scientific types."
Catherine shuddered at the thought of her son and Vincent trapped somewhere in a cage, only god knows where. She had to find out where they were. But first she had to find her tunnel family and get Peter out of jail. Forcing herself to be calm, she asked where he was incarcerated.
Joe waved his hand in the direction of the prison, "He’s in a minimum security prison in upper New York."
Knowing she would need money if she was to find the community members–anyway, what was left of them–and to save her son and his father, she asked, "What about my estate?"
"Since I’m the executor, it makes it much easier for you. I’ve already sold the apartment."
"That’s all right, I won’t be needing it anymore," she answered.
"All of your furniture is gone, given to those charities that you named."
She nodded in a fog of dread and worry. She had difficulty concentrating on anything but Vincent and her son. Forcefully focusing on the here and now, she turned her attention back to Joe as he continued.
"Your money is in trust funds that I can easily liquidate. You’re as rich as you ever were." He chuckled as he said that.
"Good," she breathed a sigh of relief. "Liquidate all my assets as soon as you can. I have need of the money."
Joe wanted to ask her why she needed money so badly. Her demeanor had changed during their conversation, and now she was the hard-nosed investigator that he once knew. He nodded. "I’ll open an account for you right away."
Standing abruptly, she said, "Thanks for everything, Joe, but I’ve got to start getting my life back together." She had to get away from Rita and Joe’s bubbly happiness while her happiness lay in a cage somewhere. She needed to be alone: to mourn, to plan what she was going to do. With apologies for the hastiness of her departure, she hugged Joe and Rita again and left. Joe looked at Rita with a what was that all about kind of expression. She shrugged her shoulders and returned to her desk.